Trip Number 1 1/2: A Mystical Path

Camera on, I enter the scene. I am wearing a full-length black dress, a black t-shirt that covers my collar bones and a sweater that covers my arms. I am fully covered. I am on my way to the Hasidic neighborhood to meet the professor of my Hasidism class. He invited his 40+ person class over to his house for tea/coffee and cake, then planned on taking us to various "tishes" (tishot? tishim?): huge, amazing, dancing celebrations of Sukkot. I, as always, have no idea where I am going. Despite the fact that I spent half an hour staring at a map of where I needed to get, then copied it down for myself, I somehow forgot to put down any street names or markers that would orient me if I diverted from the correct path. Which I did from the very beginning, when I decided that I was much smarter than the directions. A call to a friend and I was back on the right path, wandering through an Arab neighborhood to get to the Hasidic neighborhood. It was dark and only the second time I have ever wandered around Jerusalem by myself. I hadn't planned to go by myself, but I was damned if I was going to let that stop me from going on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Running through my mind: Am I less of a target because I look like a very religious Jew? Or am I more of a target? A target of what? I put on my "don't mess with me face" and walked confidently, trying not to think about how stupid I was for walking around at night by myself!

In Jerusalem, there is one glowing street sign per every street corner. Which means that it is not always on the same side of the street as you. After crossing many streets and then crossing back, I found my way into the Hasidic neighborhood. Although I was still being looked at funny, I found that I felt much more comfortable. The apartments I passed glowed with light, sukkahs built on balconies and porches were filled with music and the high-pitched babble of kids.

Our professor treated the few students who had shown up to treats in the sukkah, which was beautifully decorated with flashing plastic grapes, pictures of famous rabbis, paper chains and art obviously made my his five children. We were then taken on a tour by his oldest child, a gregarious young boy who had just been Bar Mitzvahed (as in: "How old is your son?" "Oh, he was just a Bar Mitzvah"). He explained that people build their sukkahs everywhere: on ledges, on porches, in their front yards. He showed us one that was HUGE, big enough to fit 30 people comfortably. He pointed out another one that was tiny and rather ramshackle, explaining that it was an old man's sukkah, that he probably only went into it to eat a mid-day meal. "I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand," he told us. At 12, he was completely comfortable wandering around in the dark, his blend of American English, Argentinian Spanish and Hebrew only giving him a slight accent. 

Then, we began our adventure around Me'ah Sharim. A much more comfortable experience than when I traveled there in a pack of 8 other international students. Our professor lead us up and down the streets, getting closer and closer to the sound of singing. "A Sephardic Synagogue," he told us. He and the other males walked in through the front door, while I cruised around the block with the other girls, trying to find the entrance. Finally, we found it, hidden right next to the main door. We climbed into the rafters where tons of women and children were squished up against a barrier, trying to see the joyful singing and dancing. A lovely, olive-toned Sephardic woman grabbed our hands and danced around with us. 

We visited two more tishes, with similar situations: the men all dressed up, singing and dancing to loud music on one side, the women and children gossiping and watching from the other. Sometimes they were separated by a tarp, sometimes by a fence, but the women were on the outside of the activity. 

Surprisingly, I didn't feel at all left out. The women were engaged in their own part of the ritual and I felt no resentment at not being allowed to join in. It was actually pretty nice getting to peak at tons of men of all ages dancing around and holding hands -where else is that acceptable? 

In a way, I found the gender rules to be rather freeing. I knew exactly what I was supposed to wear, how I was supposed to act, what I was supposed to do. The women fulfilled their own role while the men fulfilled theirs. There was much interaction though between both sides and I really felt like I was in a community! There were so many little children running around the dark streets and when I asked my professor, he said he would easily allow his kids to do the same - it was so safe. 

So many questions sprung into my mind about this community. Attempting to be so distant from the secular world, but still full of cell phones and loudspeakers and sparkly dresses. So many different sects of Hasidism in one place: men wearing fur covered hats, men wearing silk coats, men wearing beige coats, men wearing wide brimmed hats and on and on and on. But they all talked and danced and sang together, regardless. They held hands with their little children, of which most had many, they talked enthusiastically with their lives: they were living. Just a life so different than my own, one that I know so little about. I cannot wait to learn more.